


kal'i'farr

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>looking at her in the faint light of Earth's moon, he believes that she is unparalleled and he has done her a great disservice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	kal'i'farr

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/where_no_woman/profile)[**where_no_woman**](http://community.livejournal.com/where_no_woman/) prompt "walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting", title translates to "marriage" and, yes, it's Spock pov, but somehow I can't think of any better way to properly showcase T'Pring and her awesome in this situation.

She should not be here.

Awakened by movement, Spock opens his and looks to the small warmth at his side. He is ill-accustomed to a presence in his bed and, for a moment, his heart beats faster with the first stirrings of alarm. In the next, awareness catches up to instinct and he remembers the events of earlier. Fingers sliding against fingers, bodies pressed tight, curling together, slipping and sliding until their minds had blended into one.

T'Pring shifts closer, one arm sliding across his chest in an easy familiarity they should not yet feel, and he does not protest it. It is not logical that he should desire her again in this fashion, but it has been some time since logic had applied to her at all.

He had thought he did not desire the one his parents had selected for him. He had convinced himself of the unsuitability of the match. Now, he must question his reasoning for it is most assuredly in error.

She sighs, a quiet exhalation of breath, that flutters across his skin in the faintest of touches. He has always known T'Pring is beautiful. Such is difficult to notice, but it is no different of a multitude of Vulcan woman. Carefully selected marriages going back generations saw desired traits enhanced and, logically, a physically attractive appearance rated high among them.

T'Pring's beauty should number her among those women, does so, but looking at her in the faint light of Earth's moon, he believes that she is unparalleled and he has done her a great disservice.

It should have been he that closed the distance between them, he had created it after all.

"Share your thoughts, my husband," T'Pring murmurs, voice rough with sleep. It is an intimate thing to see her in such fashion, hear such words fall in the language of their birth from lips still swollen from his kisses.

("Such a peculiar thing," she'd said, tongue stealing out to taste her lip. Something to which he had directed an entirely undue amount of attention. "Why do they do it?" He'd kissed her again, the connection between their minds strengthening, the walls of their shielding falling away, and knew she'd understood.)

He stares at those lips again, feeling a deep amusement and, again, desire. Her hand rises, unbidden, to touch those lips and he contemplates objecting. She must know, by now, what such actions evoke within him.

"I find myself examining the evening," he says, honest.

Her hair is loose and it slides, like silken midnight, across her shoulders as she rises. He curls fingers into it, drawing her close, and T'Pring allows it.

"You intend to make apology again," she says, disapproving. "I have told you, Spock, there is no need. The errors were not yours alone. That which occurred between us are not solely your responsibility."

Perhaps, but it was not she that had fled the planet, leaving her behind to face the condemning eyes of an entire world. She had not run.

"There is no logic in self-recrimination," T'Pring adds. "What is past is past."

"It cannot be changed," he agrees, "however, there is the matter of understanding." He watches her rise, naked and heedless of it, aware of the implications of such a movement. There are few casual actions with a woman such as T'Pring. Nothing done without thought and consideration. The message sent by her navigation of his, _their_, bedroom with the dark silk of her hair, loose about her body, her only nod to modesty is enough to steal the very breath from his lungs.

There is no reason that he should still desire her so. As if he has not spent hours upon hours patiently exploring each and every aspect of her, cataloguing that which brought her to the brink and that which tipped her over. He has begun to learn the intricacies of her mind. Learned of the wry humor which laced each and every thought, of the fear and hesitation that had very nearly driven her from the transport to Earth, of the growing admiration with which she regarded him.

"Perhaps," he agrees, fingertips tracing the perfect curve of one hip, "however, I believe that it is quite logical to admit regret for time lost." Their Times have not yet come upon them, there is no biological reason that he should feel this way still. That he could press fingertips to her temples and lose himself in the warm welcome of her body.

She is glorious.

T'Pring considers his point and nods, "I will permit this."

He does not tell her that he'd been prepared to end their union, that he'd early made the tragic mistake of ending formal connections between them. That in a matter of days, she would have been no more entitled to lay here with him than a stranger on the street, and yet he is certain the loss wold have been his.

In years past, she has been an enigma. A picture on a screen as he made the mistake of permitting her to become a stranger.

What he does tell her is also the truth. "I would be disinclined to return to such an arrangement." She on Vulcan, inhabiting the estate that is among his holdings, and he here. "However -- "

T'Pring nods, draping herself across him. It is an action that Spock finds exceedingly pleasing. Even more so when she permits him the luxury of sliding his hands over her skin. It is warm, smooth, and inviting beneath his palm and he finds that he is every kind of an idiot to ever consider rejecting a woman such as she. "While the temperature is not particularly welcoming, I see no logical reason to depart."

("Why are you here?" he'd asked. She'd considered his question and, unfailingly honest as always, replied in truth, "I had no wish to be consort to a legend, however I am reminded that one does not marry a legend. One marries the man and allows legend to take care of itself." She'd held out her fingers to him then. An invitation.)

It is he that holds them out now, asking again for a forgiveness she does not have to give, but for which he can never permit himself to cease asking. "Then do not."

T'Pring inclines her head, elegant and graceful, and matches his fingers with hers.


End file.
